Not Quite a Goldfish
by Adventurelife
Summary: Mycroft never expected to get married...much less find out he has a daughter. The British government gets a wake up call and has to learn how to raise a child, a daughter much less.
1. Arrival and Survival

Nothing slipped past Mycroft Holmes, not after his many years of being the British government, as well as keeping an eye on his younger sibling. It would have been quite easy for the eldest Holmes to go about his life and forget something if he was a normal person, but he wasn't, that would not be something befitting a Holmes. No, Mycroft had the memory of an iron-trap, nothing slipped past him and so he would a some points have a manila envelope handed to him by Anthea from one of his many sources of eyes, or it would appear on his desk once a month or at his request once a week. When no one was around, after hours for most people had left the area, Mycroft would gather his briefcase and head home, a quiet imperceptible gleam to his eyes. Once within the relative peace and safety of his house he'd settle with a cup of tea and open the envelope.

It was a relatively normal day for Mycroft, he had met with various delegates and diffused volatile situations, but now it was small span of time for himself. He had shed his suit coat and placed his ever present umbrella in its stand and was sitting in his dining room, a small meal and a steaming cup of tea before him and a thick manila envelope.

His house was silent as he let tension drop from his shoulders while he sipped his tea, lazily he finished his meal, enjoying the languid feeling of the evening. Setting his cup to the side he picked up the envelope and slid out reports and pictures there was a small twitch of his lips, something he rarely allowed to appear. The cause of such a reaction from someone so seemingly cold and detached was... unsettling to say the least. It was the closest thing to a willing smile that most would see upon his face.

Mycroft spread the contents of the file in front of him and glanced into the large manila envelope and drew forth a packet of bound letters. His brow furrowed momentarily as he quickly deduced that the letters were mostly from a lawyer in America, minus the one from his own personal attorney. Standing thoughtfully, he put his dishes in the sink, and gathered the contents from the envelope and moved to his den, feeling the need for privacy as he settled into the rich brown leather chair behind his ancient looking desk.

Once again he laid out the contents he had taken from the envelope; he arranged everything strategically before taking his letter opener and calmly slitting open the first letter. He read through that letter and several others, each seemed to be about unimportant matters. At last Mycroft came to the last two letters in the stack. His eyes narrowed very slightly as he picked up one. The writing was so familiar to him, though it was unexpected to hear from her. A small smirk crossed his face as he opened the letter and recalled a particularly exceptional person he met ten years ago.

 _Dear Mycroft,_

 _If you are reading this, as cliché as it sounds, it will be after my death, or disappearance. Whichever way it ended, I leave what you sent me over with._

 _It is with my deepest sympathy and love that I write these words. Remember this is something that even_ _you could not stop._

 _Carson as you already know passed on, he was a good man and I feel for his dear family as if the unfortunate incident happened yesterday. You were right to try and keep us safe, but now I can't continue with my part of the arrangement I relinquish my hold into your capable hands._

 _My deepest sentiments were with you both till the last... I would say its likely people will be close to follow me._

 _Again, know that it was a lovely portion of life and thank you My, for caring in your own way. You will do a wonderful job as you set out in this new venture._

 _However...whatever you feel, please don't question it,... you stubborn Holmes. Life is too short._

 _Yours With Love,_

 _Caroline Rivers-Holmes._

Mycroft read the letter carefully, taking in the hidden messages Caroline had woven into each paragraph, he mulled over the sentiment of it all. Despite the disadvantage of caring, Mycroft could not stop the deep sadness that washed over him, and for once he didn't try to push it aside. She after all had been his wife, and Mycroft Holmes was not one to just marry a _nyone._ Caroline had been something... special, he would admit that.

It was an injustice that she was dead, Caroline had been a bright person, someone that understood his need to distance himself from sentiment. She was a remarkable woman in Mycroft's opinion, and she had possessed ideas and opinions nearly as strong as his and a witty sense of humor that balanced his more dark and dry humor, that is when he showed any humor. It was no surprise that Mycroft was drawn to her intelligence first, rather than her looks, though he would never deny that his wife had been a beautiful woman. A grimace of what could undoubtedly be grief crossed his face as he recalled what little time they had been allowed to spend with one another.

Glancing down he saw that she had enclosed a picture of herself and he paused as he glanced at the other person in the photo. In the picture Caroline's soft strawberry blonde hair fell just past her shoulders in gentle waves, she was undoubtedly just as beautiful as he recalled. Her bright green eyes were crinkled in laughter and her arms were wrapped around a girl of about nine years of age. Looking at the picture Mycroft was drawn into memories, allowing him a time of reverie, something he was not often apt to do.

Caroline had been a vivacious woman, the embodiment of the word alive. The redhead had intrigued Mycroft, though he would not admit it aloud. The two had met when Caroline, who was a liaison agent at the moment, was recalled to England after some time abroad. Mycroft had never met her but he had come across a file bearing her name.

It was a rather informal how the two met, but it was still clear in Mycroft's perfectly organized mind. He had been taking a walk when there had come a torrential downfall of rain mixed with light sleet. Quickly he'd opened his umbrella and as the rain picked up its pace, he hastened his steps and moved towards a small cozy looking building that turned out to be a combination bookstore and cafe.

As he neared the bookstore he noticed a tall red headed woman from the corner of his eyes just stepping onto the curb to the left. A car zipped by at that moment and its tires spun through a puddle, spraying the willowy redhead. An indignant huff came from her direction and Mycroft, being the elegant gentleman that he is offered her the cover of his umbrella and his arm to her.

Bright green eyes assessed Mycroft in a keen way as he offered his assistance. Her intense gaze, matched with the now wet hair lightly adhered to her elegant features had drawn Mycroft in like a moth to flame. With a graceful touch she took his arm and stepped under the shelter of his umbrella. The eldest Holmes couldn't help but find himself pleased that she had taken his arm. A smirk of smug confidence touched his lips and turned into a small smile as she regarded him from the corner of her eye while he lead them both into the warmth of the awaiting building.

Mycroft had no doubt that she was of keen intelligence, albeit he had found it foolhardy for anyone to go out without a proper umbrella, and he had told her so in an offhand fashion. His proclamation that she should invest in an umbrella if she ventured to stay in London long, elicited a soft laugh from the woman.

"Really, now? I am usually prepared for such situations but..."

"You've just recently returned," Mycroft slyly finished her sentence, as he had already deduced several things about her. "I take it you are native to London." He closed his umbrella and held the door as she wrung out the ends of her hair before stepping inside.

"Yes I am. You would be Mycroft Holmes?" Her gem-like eyes danced with a warmth as the damp pair settled at an empty table.

"I am, and you would be Caroline Rivers," Mycroft easily recalled a file with a picture of plausible liaison agents. "Returning to London so soon?"

"Things are wrapped up for now. I must thank you for your dashing rescue with your umbrella." Mirth bubbled in her tone, and Mycroft found the sound of her voice resembled that of a fine wine... he found he rather liked it.

"In that case you would not mind sharing a cup of tea? I cannot have someone that will be in my employment to catch their death of cold."

"Employee?" She arched an eyebrow evenly as a waitress came over to take a quick order. "I think you are jumping to conclusions Mr. Holmes." Caroline answered with a firm look in her eyes while she shed her wet coat and hung it on the back of her chair. Mycroft merely looked at her as the waitress returned with their tea.

"How so?" His voice held a underlying tint of amusement as he sipped his tea.

"I never sent my file to your office, so it must be apparent that I am not seeking to be your employee." Her eyes held shrewdness and a keen sharpness that he immediately appreciated.

"Indeed, it would seem you aren't. However, I am in need of a new liaison agent."

"And I am what you are looking for?"

"Yes. Now shall we discuss the hours you will be working."

"I never said yes." Caroline's tone spoke of a woman who knew her mind and wasn't one to be manipulated. He couldn't help but smirk slightly, she was no goldfish.

"You did not."

"Might I inquire as to why you feel I am the one to fit this position?"

"You may, though I am not required to answer," His lips twitched in amusement.

"My, you do seem to think you are important," Her posture screamed that she was challenging his authority.

"I merely hold a small government position."

"Oh, please, Mr. Holmes. I am not an idiotic woman," her eyes flashed, warning him that it would not be wise to say she was anything less of brilliant. "You play a major part in our government. In fact," her lyrical voice dropped an octave, "I'd say you _are_ the government."

Silence greeted her words, but his slight smile and the lift of one of his eyebrows was answer enough. She knew that her words rang more true than she had intended them to. No other words were spoken about work after that and the two simply sipped their tea and surprisingly talked of the weather and other normal things.

In the next few weeks the British government managed to asked Caroline out to dinner and within half a year the two had a small wedding ceremony held in the country. Mycroft had questioned himself and his abrupt choice of action, everything had seemed to progress quickly between the two of them. However brash it was of him, Mycroft couldn't bring himself to regret it, she was a welcome balance to his life. With careful planning Mycroft and Caroline had kept their relationship secret, even Sherlock hadn't suspected, which in itself was an amazing feat.

With a nonexistent sigh Mycroft tore himself from his thoughts and fingered the photograph and leaned back into the compliant brown leather. He glanced at the date on the letter... four days ago, meaning that he needed to escalate things. Mycroft did not fancy the idea of his own flesh and blood in a social services building, being treated as an insignificant person. Taking a deep breath, he straightened the papers and files on his desk and picked up his phone. In a minuscule amount of time he had his agents cut any red tape preventing the return of what he and Caroline had been protecting for years. It was not going to be an easy task, yet Mycroft reminded himself that little else was ever easy in life, so this should not be as difficult as he was imagining.

Once everything was in order he closed his phone and picked up the photo, glancing at the image a thin wistful smile touched his lips. Taking his time, the eldest Holmes' made his way to his room and retired for the night, knowing that the next day would be wrought with far too many things to do for the average person, but of course, the Holmes' are not average.

~Next day later in the evening~

Traveling to a new home is never something that one would consider _enjoyable,_ especially when that new home is half way around the world. A young girl shifted nervously in her seat, biting her lip she glanced out the window and down at the runway that the plane was quickly coming to meet. With a shaky breath she glanced around the first class cabin of the plane, within a few minutes she would be landing in London, England...and going to a new home. A bit angry with life she kicked a foot against the floor and made sure her seat belt was in place. She'd not been told anything about who she'd be living with, only that her new home wouldn't be in America, it would be in England.

Sighing she folded her hands in her lap, her blue denim pants and a periwinkle blue sweater set off her fair cream complexion. Her soft strawberry blonde hair was neatly pulled back in a ponytail and a few stray pieces framed a fair childlike face, there was an intelligence to her looks, perhaps it was the slight lift of her chin or the sharp gleam to her blue grey eyes, whatever it was, there was no mistaking her as an ordinary child. An advanced puzzle book lay beneath her folded hands as the plane jolted while sitting down on the runway. With a quick glance out the window yet again, a queer sight caught her eyes.

Dashing between planes her keen eyes caught sight of something dark, some sort of long coat. Pressing a hand to the window she watched ever so carefully as a man darted here and there before making his way towards the inside of the airport.

" _That's unusual,"_ the girl thought as the stewardess announced that they could begin to exit the plane. She quickly loosened the confining belt and jumped to her feet, grabbing her carry-on she slipped the puzzle book inside and waited for her escort to lead her off the plane. He was a tall man, with coal black hair peppered with grey, and all he had told her upon retrieving her from American social services was that she could call him Faust.

It was quite infuriating to the young girl to have such little information about her current situation, she had easily determined that her new guardian was rather important considering that Faust dressed the part of a government man, leading her to believe whomever she was going to be living with felt she needed a bodyguard. She was no one's fool, the slight distortion of Faust's suit on his left side told her that he was armed.

Though she had pieced together some of the situation, the inquisitive child could not be satisfied with knowing so little, so she had lifted Faust's phone on the way onto the plane. It had been rather easy to do and it had confirmed her suspicions that he was an agent for her important guardian, his texts were clipped and to the point but it was obvious to her that he was to guard her and bring her to _MH..._ After gleaning such information she had slipped him his phone while he dozed beside her.

Not a word came from Faust as he took her carry-on and quickly ushered her off the plane and into the airport. All he did was hover close to her as if she were in danger of disappearing in the blink of an eye.

 _"He is definitely keeping an eye out for someone to try something."_ She thought in annoyance at Faust's obvious paranoia. Glancing around her eyes caught sight of the long black coat she had spotted earlier. With keen eyes she took note of the person in the coat, the owner of it was in rather a hurry, running through the crowds of people that had just left security. He was tall and had thick ebony curls, the girl jotted it down in her memory and took stock of the coat before it and its owner disappeared from sight.

The sound of running could be heard and she noticed a shorter blonde man chasing after the taller gentleman, she heard him call out _Sherlock._ Her brow furrowed as she thought how odd the word was...or was it a name. Curiosity was gnawing at her as Faust escorted her outside and onto a sidewalk to wait for a vehicle.

After waiting for a good fifteen minutes her escort's patience was waning and he decided that a cab would work just as well, as he decided that, it seemed that everyone in the airport made a mass sidewalk was flooded with people and somehow the girl was swept out of Faust's ever watchful line of sight and into a cab, she turned wide grey-blue eyes towards the still open door as two men slid into the cab as well. Her sharp gaze quickly asserted that these were the two men from inside the airport. The tall one gave the cab driver an address and then with a petulant crossing of the arms he flounced back against the seat.

"Really John, you shouldn't have called out to me in the airport!"

"And you shouldn't have ran off like a complete idiot! There's a bomb threat and you decided NOT to tell me until inside...and then go running off!" The blonde man hissed slightly his eyes snapping angrily.

"Umm..."

"And who are you?" The coat owner raised his voice slightly and glared at the girl, however she didn't flinch. She merely glanced over him as if he was a puzzle.

"Who are y-..." She began only to be cut off.

"I asked you first."

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," She smirked lightly.

"My names John Watson," the blonde man responded before the other man could. "I'm a doctor, and this is-"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"How did you?"

"She heard you call my name John."

"I only called your first name." John commented as he looked at the girl with obvious curiosity.

"You write a blog," she shrugged, "That is if you are **that** John Watson...it would mean he is Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock isn't a common name." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin in a bit of defiance.

"Yes...quite right. Who are you though?" Sherlock asked again with a little more command in his voice.

"Nancy H-."

"How did you end up in our cab?" John asked looking at her intently.

"There were a lot of people that exited the airport at the same time...I was separated from Faust." She announced causing Sherlock to perk up at the mention of the name Faust.

"Really? Faust..." His keen eyes, similarly colored to Nancy's roved over her as if she had suddenly became an object of extreme interest.

"Who's Faust?" John asked sounding a bit unsure.

"My escort..."

"An agent of Mycroft..." Sherlock seemed a bit giddy, "Why is my brother so interested in a child, from America...though her accent has a British flavor to it...Nine years old, recently orphaned."

"What?" John asked turning from the girl to Sherlock and back again. "She's just a child."

"No matter, we'll find out later, as she's coming with us. Tell me Nancy... do you enjoy a mystery?"

"I love it, but what about Faust...and my guardian will be worri-."

"Nonsense, you'll be perfectly safe and Faust will find you." Sherlock rolled his eyes as the cab pulled up to a crime scene and he hopped out leaving John to pay the driver. Nancy quickly followed, stuffing her hands in her pockets and falling into step beside John. As she and John passed vacant police cruisers and crossed yellow tape to enter a slightly run down building she couldn't help but sense something was off. Silently she took a step closer to John while they crept into a back room past police officers that were loitering in the halls. Standing just outside of the main crime scene was a tall African American police officer, her lips were pinched into a thin disapproving line as she glanced at the pair.

"Hey, why are you bringing a kid to a crime scene? That's even a bit out their for the Freak."

"That's rude." Nancy remarked looking at the policewoman who had made the comment.

"Yeah that's Donovan, just ignore her. Her bark is worse than her bite." John assured the girl as he placed a hand on her back and ushered her past the angry looking officer.

"Watson, keep the kid out of the way," Donovan called out, crossing her arms indignantly.

"I won't be in the way, you've already messed up some of the evidence anyway." Nancy muttered as she slipped from John's hold on her and meandered into the room where Sherlock was crouched next to a body. They young redhead calmly gazed around the room taking in every inch of the crime scene. Sherlock glanced up and watched her quiet observance with an interested gleam in his eyes.

"Nancy, come here." Sherlock spoke in a demanding tone, though it was laced with curiosity. He beckoned her over to crouch beside him, not thinking it odd to show a little girl a body.

"Sherlock!" John cried out in obvious distress.

"Please John," Sherlock spoke in a way that you could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "She's obviously not deterred by the body, and she has an observing eye."

"It's fine John." Nancy amended as she hurriedly came beside Sherlock and crouched beside him. Her eyes roamed over the figure laying on its side. "Mmmh...male...early forties," she muttered as she tilted her head to the side to get a view of his face before glancing at his hands. "He worked in a leather shop," she took a deep breath as if smelling something. "Right? I mean I smell leather from his general area..."

"Yes! Exactly." Sherlock sounded excited with her observations. "What else, come now that couldn't be all you noticed."

"Umm, he didn't die instantly... his right arm is extended towards the door and his hand is in a grasping motion... as if," Nancy bit her lip before continuing, "As if the assailant left without seeing if he was dead yet."

"There are no powder burns so that means he wasn't shot... the way the blood pools indicates he was stabbed...but the knife isn't present."

"She took it with her." Nancy piped in her eyes glistening as if a piece of the puzzle had shifted into place.

"How did you figure that out?" John asked in bewilderment as he glanced between Nancy and Sherlock.

"My thoughts exactly." A deep voice joined the conversation. "What's she doing here Sherlock?"

"Oh nothing Graham. She's observing." Sherlock replied as he basically waved off the older man that had stepped into the room.

"Its Greg." The man bit out as he glanced at the scene.

"Lestrade, any leads?" John asked turning from Sherlock and Nancy to converse with the man.

"Who's he?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade..." Sherlock mumbled looking at something intently. "Works at Scotland Yard... Something doesn't fit.."

"What if he's a distraction... his death could be a plant... It was a girl right...I mean...the level of the wound..."

"Yes a girl," He replied distractedly as he hurriedly stood and looked around. "Everybody out!" Sherlock grasped Nancy by the arm and shoved her out of the room.

"Sherlock, what...?" John nearly yelled as Sherlock ordered people about in an obnoxiously arrogant tone.

"NOW JOHN!" At the strange urgency in his voice the doctor and the detective inspector followed Sherlock and emptied the building of any occupants. Just as the others stepped out the door, Sherlock grabbed Nancy and dashed out just as an explosion engulfed the building.

Angry red and orange flames licked the building from top to bottom and it tossed shrapnel from its frame and down upon those cowering upon the ground. The air filled with thick smoke and heat that nearly seared straight to the bone, and those who narrowly escaped being incinerated in the deadly explosion had ringing ears and were hugging the ground as debris continued to rain down.

No sound reached their ears for several minutes and most lay dazed upon the earth as rescue vehicles began to arrive, sirens screeching at the darkening sky. At last sound returned to Sherlock's ears and he blinked up at the sky only to be greeted by the sight of his brother standing over him, Sherlock had been thrown several feet from the initial impact of the explosion and he smirked up at his brother.

"Hello Mycroft." Even to his ears it sounded raspy, his brother glanced at him in a less concerned manner before glancing at something to Sherlock's left. That's when it struck Sherlock...the girl...Mycroft was here for the girl.

"Brother. " Mycroft met his eyes as Sherlock stumbled to his feet and regained his composure.

"I want an explanation." Sherlock demanded

Mycroft merely looked at his younger brother in a bored manner before turning and nodding to some of his personnel to collect the girl that had been laying to Sherlock's left. With not another word Mycroft, the girl and the personnel all disappeared behind the chaotic collection of fire trucks, police cars and ambulances. Needless to say Sherlock was not pleased... He wanted answers, and he wanted them **now.** He'd just have to go about getting answers his way. Sherlock would get his explanation one way or another, but for now, he needed to check on John. With a dramatic turn on his heel he stalked about the area searching for his friend the doctor and scheming of ways to find his beloved explanations to sate his endless curiosity.


	2. Inquiring Minds

Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock! Mycroft glared at his mobile device that was buzzing incessantly. At last Mycroft simply shoved the offensive object into a drawer of his desk. His head throbbed like a jackhammer, pressure building against the inside of his skull as his cellphone would not cease buzzing. The eldest Holmes felt a small surge of relief as he was finally settled at home with his daughter soundly asleep upstairs.

He had just returned from an hour examination at the hospital, she'd only had a few stitches to the back of her head and some bandages on her upper right arm due to the harsh fall on the pavement. The relatively new parent sighed mentally in relief that there was no sign of a concussion...Sherlock should be grateful it wasn't worse...or else he'd not find himself in a pleasant position. Less than two hours, his daughter had been in the country less than two hours and already she had disappeared from the sight of one of his best agents. Not only had Nancy vanished seemingly, but Mycroft knew instinctively that his brother had been involved

Mycroft ran a hand over his face as he sat in the privacy of his study. He had been tracking the progress of the plane his daughter was arriving on. His plan had been to keep Nancy from the prying inquisitiveness of his brother for as long as possible. It had all been for naught, for it became apparent that his brother and his daughter had crossed paths at the airport and the cameras he had on his brother's moves caught a glimpse of a strawberry blonde child in the company of Dr. Watson and his intolerable brother.

With deep set annoyance the relatively new father had kept an eye on the situation. Then he sent out a few texts to some of his people, who tracked the taxi to the apparent crime scene. It had taken hardly any time before the eldest Holmes arrived at the scene. At first Mycroft was unsettled and worried when he arrived, his worry soon turned to anger as he found his brother was perfectly fine. Sherlock's calmly caught Mycroft's eyes and smirked.

Glancing to the side he had seen his only child, a physical reminder of his one and only marriage. This was his only shot at parenthood and though he was not what one might label 'father' material, he was not going to ruin a good thing...or person for that matter. She was his child and he had no intention of causing harm to his own flesh and blood.

So Mycroft Holmes found himself waiting for his daughter to wake...and contemplating ways to keep Sherlock away from her. Scenarios of possible perils raced through his mind like a train on a collision course.

~Upstairs~

Nancy wasn't sure what to think when she woke. Her body was aching, as if a building had fallen on her. Every inch of her skin screamed out as she shifted in the plushness of her bed. Her fair skin was riddled with bruises in various places and her head ached sharply.

Confusion flitted through her mind as she realized that she wasn't lying on pavement, but instead was laying on a soft mattress. Her senses slowly returned to her completely and she propped herself up on her left arm to look at her surroundings carefully. Soft light was filtering through partially closed curtains and the room she found herself in was dimly lit. Sitting up she let her eyes focus more fully upon the furnishings of the room.

The room was elegant that tastefully simple, with pale blue curtains hung over double windows along one wall, and the comforter on the bed was a matching blue and white design and luxuriously soft sheets beckoned to her to sleep forever. Slowly, Nancy trailed the fingers of her right hand along the silky sheets as she looked at her plush surroundings. The carpet looked as if her feet would sink into its soft cream depths and never surface for air. Elegant maple furniture graced the room, a sturdy antique desk sat near a window, and a nightstand to the left of her bed. Double doors on one wall led to what she assumed would be a closet and a chest of drawers stood to the left of the doors and her suitcase stood propped beside the main door of the room.

Curious and a bit apprehensive about where she was, Nancy gingerly slipped from her bed and sunk her feet into the plush carpet. A pleased sigh escaped her at the softness that caressed her bare feet. She didn't relax very long at the feeling, as she decided it was time to find out where she was staying.

A quick glance at herself however revealed her bedraggled appearance, sweater missing and her black t-shirt that was underneath it and her jeans were torn and bloodied in places. With a soft sigh she ran a hand over the left leg of her jeans, muttering softly she limped over to her suitcase and found a fresh pair of jeans and a clean shirt. Carefully she changed and padded out of the room.

The door opened slowly, never issuing the slightest whisper of sound. With light footsteps she crept down the hallway, always watching her surroundings, then she padded down the stairway to the main floor. It hurt to walk, but Nancy let her stubborn will and curiosity guide her steps.

She focused on remaining silent as she crept around the main floor, taking a careful assessment of her surroundings. _"You can never be too careful,"_ Nancy thought to herself. Every step was calculated, just like Carson and her mother had taught her. " _Never drop your guard, if you do...It won't be pleasant,"_ the calm voice of Carson, her foster father, came through her mind as she edged her way around the main floor. Nancy paused as she passed what looked to be the kitchen, she heard something move. Heart racing, she pressed herself against the wall and looked for something to use as a makeshift weapon. Spotting an umbrella resting in a stand she grabbed it and wielded it like a bat as she heard footsteps approaching.

Nancy felt her heart jump into her throat as a tall shadow filled the doorway leading from the kitchen into the hall. Instinct screaming at her to hit and run, Nancy swung towards the shadow with all her might. All at once light flooded the hall as the shadow flipped on the light for the hallway, just as the umbrella contacted the shadow's hand.

"I see you're up." Mycroft spoke with an amused undercurrent in his tone. Nancy blinked up at him owlishly and glanced back at the umbrella she was holding by the handle like a bat.

"Umm...Yes... Who are you?" Suspicion laced her words as she sized up the man still holding the upper part of her makeshift weapon in his hand.

"Are you hungry?" Mycroft looked at Nancy with a collected yet calculating gaze.

"I asked who you are..."

"First, do you mind if I put away my umbrella?" Mycroft asked taking it carefully from her grip and depositing it back in the umbrella stand. Nancy stared at him with a calculating glint in her eyes and a tilt to her head that delighted Mycroft secretly. A calculating look and the Holmes' mannerism that gave away her clear intellect adorned his child's face.

"You still haven't answered my question." Nancy reiterated with a firm tone that reminded Mycroft entirely of Caroline.

Mycroft didn't utter a reply and simply turned on his heel and strolled into the kitchen. He moved to fix some tea and heat some food, patiently awaiting Nancy. He'd calculated how a child of his would react. Three...Two...One...The clear sound of his daughter's footsteps could be heard. He paused as he turned on the water. She was limping. " _Reprimand Sherlock thoroughly,"_ was quickly bumped up on his mental to-do list. Mycroft took a calming breath, being angry would not settle Nancy at all. He turned around in an easy fashion, only to find her standing directly behind him, her arms crossed lightly and a determined look that was most certainly a reflection of him when he was...much... much younger looked at him.

"I'm assuming your name starts with an M...and your last name with a H."

"You pocketed Faust's mobile temporarily."

"Yes. What? Oh! You deduce?" Nancy's eyes lit up in excitement. "Like that Sherlock fellow?"

"Not quite. I'm a bit better at it." Mycroft replied calmly, bristling a little that his own daughter seemed to admire his brother more than her father already. That, simply wouldn't do.

"Oh... Well what's your name?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

"So... you're my guardian?"

"Correct."

"I'm assuming...you're related... How?"

"I'm your father." Mycroft smirked slightly.

"Adopted?"

"Biological."

"Well that explains some things." Nancy replied glancing at his eyes and then seemingly categorizing his features and comparing them to her own.

Silence descended on the pair as Mycroft took in the appearance of his only child. He felt pride roll over him. She was a beautiful child. Her strawberry blonde hair fell around her face in soft waves and keen grey-blue eyes, like his gazed at him intently. The father and daughter pair took their time analyzing one another. Mentally Mycroft wondered how hard it would be to keep the boys away when she reached the age to date.

"The water's boiling." Nancy spoke quietly, breaking the silence. Her keen eyes watching Mycroft's every move as he turned his back to her and tended to the tea.

Nancy swallowed thickly, eyeing her newfound father. He was exactly how her mother had described. Tall, intelligent looking and a little bit intimidating...and she found his presence unsettling...hopefully that would change once she got to know him. She sighed internally, everything she knew was gone and now she had to catch up on nine years with a father she didn't know was still alive.

Silence prevailed in the pristine Holmes' kitchen, neither father or daughter uttering a word as Mycroft placed two cups of tea on the table as well as some raspberry scones. Slowly, Nancy glanced at her father as he set in the chair across from her. She picked at a scone and took careful sips of her tea as the awkward silence seemingly began to smother her. Shifting nervously in her seat Nancy looked at her father wondering if he would ever break the silence of the moment.

"You're wondering why your mother was living with you in America?" Mycroft asked sipping his tea without blinking.

"Yes...Why? And why haven't I ever seen pictures of you... And why was Carson posing as my father," Nancy replied her voice filled with curiosity and a need for answers flooded her eyes. "I need to know why. Please." Her voice becoming sad and if Mycroft would admit it... a bit heartbreaking. He'd never quite felt his heart squeezed by one person's words as he was when it came to those spoken by his daughter.

"There are many reasons why your mother went to America."

"But why!?" A desperate edge flooded Nancy's voice and caused Mycroft to pause in bringing his cup to his lips. Mycroft's face softened upon hearing the desperation in her voice. Without making a sound Mycroft placed his cup on the table and caught her gaze and held it carefully.

"I am what some might call... an important person," Mycroft spoke evenly, as he continued to hold his daughter's gaze. "And I have my fair share of enemies."

"You sent us away... To keep us safe?"

"It was the logical course of action."

"You...made Mom leave when she told you about me," Nancy swallowed with tears in her eyes.

"There was no other option."

"I can think of plenty of options," Nancy bit out, "Like...I don't know. Keeping us with you!"

"As I mentioned before, I have made enemies Nancy. They'd have found you and your mother."

"So ...you couldn't let them use us against you. Wasn't there somewhere safe in England for us?"

"No place safe enough." Mycroft replied simply with emotion void from his tone as he picked up his cup to take a sip.

"That answer isn't good enough! You're supposed to be my father... but I... can't understand why you wouldn't simply keep us all together!" Nancy spoke with shaking voice as she stood from her seat. Turning on her heel, the nine-year-old limped out of the kitchen, retracing her steps back up to her room. The sound of a door firmly closing caused Mycroft's shoulders to slump.

Mycroft ran a hand over his face. It seems his daughter was more Holmes than he suspected. Needing an explanation for all his actions over the years. Because he knew if she was like him, she'd also want to know why he hadn't visited. _Were all children so difficult?_

Several minutes passed with Mycroft deep in thought over how to deal with a daughter. How was one supposed to deal with a daughter that couldn't seem to begin to understand the pain it had caused him to send his own wife and unborn child away to a foreign country. He'd never admit it, but he was frustrated with the cards that life had dealt him. And yes, he was frustrated that his own child didn't understand his reasoning. For one of the few times in his life Mycroft Holmes was faced with a most ordinary question, to which he didn't have the answer, 'What to do?'

Glancing at a nearby clock on the wall Mycroft was only slightly surprised to find that it was barely noon. He couldn't begin to imagine how he was going to survive being a full-time parent, when he was struggling after only a few hours. In deep thought the new father stood to his feet and exited the kitchen. _A plan._ Mycroft Holmes needed a plan of action to gain some form of an idea as to what to do. His wandering thoughts caused his feet to wander to his library and there his brilliant plan was formed. Quickly, he pulled out his phone and began texting Anthea, relief at his plan flooding his mind and setting him at ease. He would make this work. Mycroft Holmes never let anything get the better of him. Ever.

~One hour later~

The eldest Holmes normally loved spending time in libraries. They tended to have a soothing aura about them, the scent of new and old books mingled with...what one would imagine knowledge smelled and felt like. This trip however was not soothing for Mycroft, troublesome thoughts about his new responsibilities as a father weighed upon his mind heavily.

With every step he took through the library he left a path of complete silence behind him. A collective, mental sigh escaped the librarians, _blessed silent bliss._ Mycroft would rather die than to have asked one of the librarians for references to books on child care. Instead he had found them himself before arriving and was headed to the proper section of the library.

His stride remained steady and his umbrella on his left wrist as he turned the corner around a towering bookshelf.

Shelves loomed over the library's internal alleys, casting shadows across the already dimly lit area. Tomes of various sizes and ages sat heavily in their respective homes, a heaviness lingering with them that reminded Mycroft of his current dilemma.

As the eldest Holmes rounded the corner of another bookshelf he caught sight of the one person he wanted to see the least at that moment. Sherlock. Mycroft wanted nothing more than to berate his sibling for putting his daughter in danger. But of course, that would let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Keeping his expression calm and collected Mycroft began to make a detour away from his original destination, knowing that one way or the other Sherlock would piece things together. But every little bit of stalling would be better than none.

Sometimes it seemed that Sherlock's sole purpose in life was to vex him. Mycroft sighed internally, this day could not become any worse.

"Mycroft." Sherlock's eternally smug tone grated across the elder Holmes' nerves.

"Sherlock." Mycroft replied with no restraint of ice in his tone. It took all his years of 'Sherlock handling' experience to control his desire to punch his brother. He would not give his brother the satisfaction of seeing his armor slip. With a firm set to his jaw he sent Sherlock a cool look, waiting for his brother to make some childish comment.

"Anthea could have made the trip for you." Sherlock's eyes roved over his brother's form taking in information at lightning speed.

Mycroft remained stoically silent as his brother continued speaking. "You've not slept. No trip to the office yet," Sherlock's tone dripped with insults. "What is it that's so important to keep you from your minor position in the government."

"My business is none of your concern Sherlock. Though your reckless behavior does interfere with my work. I'd prefer if you didn't get yourself and your acquaintances blown up on a frequent basis." Mycroft turned on his heel.

"Who is she?"

Mycroft said nothing, but his hand very subtly gripped his umbrella. His life was dangerous enough as it was, Sherlock would only add another level of danger to his daughter's existence.

"You know exactly of whom I'm speaking." Sherlock's tone held no room to be toyed with.

"You assume too much Sherlock."

"I'm no goldfish. That child. You know her."

"I've never been known to be acquainted with children." Mycroft raised an eyebrow as his brother's obviously 'ridiculous' accusations. "I was however surprised that Dr. Watson and yourself had abducted a child to ...help you solve a murder. Before getting blown up of course." The elder Holmes' tilted his chin ever so slightly in a manner of feigned condescending towards his younger brother. His actions an obvious jab at Sherlock's intelligence. Sherlock bristled subtly, but Mycroft saw...Mycroft always saw.

"MYCROFT! You know who she is." Sherlock's voice raising to a level that violated the sacred silence of the literary shrine.

"Do calm yourself brother-mine." Mycroft's ever-present smirk crawled across his lips as he leaned on his umbrella.

"You have answers. I need them. Now." The consulting detective's eyes blazed as he took a step closer to Mycroft.

"You should know by now that demanding answers, does not mean that I have or must give them to you." Mycroft turned on his heel once more and moved to walk away from his ever-infuriating sibling. "Good day Sherlock."

As Mycroft strolled away, Sherlock's eyes narrowed and his determination to discover his brother's secret only solidified. What was Mycroft hiding?


	3. Snooping Solutions

Sherlock had been moping for two days and it was more than John could stand. He'd come back from his chance meeting with his brother at the library with a sullen expression and a gleam in his eyes that promised trouble. John didn't like it one bit. That look in Sherlock's eye always spelled trouble of some sort. 

"Stop moping about Sherlock. It's not at all suitable for someone your age." John scowled at his flat-mate. No reply was forthcoming from Sherlock, his hands formed a steeple under his chin, and he had a blank look upon his face. He hadn't moved from his prone position on the couch for hours. 

With a sigh John turned back to his laptop and fresh cup of tea. The steam curled up towards his face, and he inhaled appreciatively, he wasn't about to let Sherlock ruin his day or distract him from his cup of tea. He took a sip of the perfectly warmed tea, the soothing heat traveling down his throat and curling in his stomach. Heaven. Now if only he could get rid of the incessant 'sound' of Sherlock's silent moping and thinking.

"Take a walk or something. Pouting won't get Mycroft to tell you what you want to know. I don't know if I've ever seen you this sullen." John muttered, not even moving his eyes from his laptop as he typed in his password. 

"That's it!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed nearly causing John to spill his tea all over the keys of his laptop. With a flurry of lanky limbs, Sherlock sprung from the couch and rushed to grab his coat and scarf.

"Sherlock WHAT on earth are you on about now?" The doctor yelled in a huff. He wiped away the tea that had spilled down his hand. Leave it to Sherlock to ruin a peaceful morning of writing. Gritting his teeth John muttered a silent prayer for endurance.

"No time John." Sherlock waved off his friend's obvious displeasure as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. 

"I do hope you aren't asking me to come with you." John muttered sending Sherlock a withering look and giving his tea a longing glance.

"I'm off to meet my niece!" Sherlock sent John a smile that looked positively conniving. A mental groan filled John's head, he always had to play mediator between the Holmes siblings. Could he not just enjoy his hot cup of tea and his writing in peace for once? With a rush Sherlock was out of the flat door. 

"NIECE! Sherlock! What on earth! Mycroft isn't the marrying type!" All thoughts of writing and tea vanished from John's mind. Haphazardly he sat his tea aside and closed his laptop. Rushing towards the door, John grabbed his coat and rushed out of the flat, hot on Sherlock's heels. Stepping outside John found a smirking Sherlock waiting beside a cab. 

"Not a word Sherlock. Just get in the cab." John spoke without giving Sherlock a second glance as he clambered into the waiting vehicle.

There was a definite air of smugness during the ride to Mycroft's. A smugness that John was not willing to address in his current mood. His hot tea had been abandoned along with his writing, and he wasn't happy. However, his curiosity had been aroused at the mention of Sherlock having a niece.

"Who in their right mind married Mycroft Holmes?" John mused to himself. This day had become longer, he sighed to himself. Sometimes, being the sane one was the most difficult thing in life. Suddenly, he was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of a door slamming.

"Come along John! No time to waste." Sherlock shouted impatiently, as he stalked towards the door of Mycroft's house. The bewildered doctor ambled out of the cab and was about to follow Sherlock, however, the cabbie stopped him with a yell, asking about his fare. 

"Leave it to Sherlock to make me pay for the cab." John muttered to himself after tossing money at the cabbie as he hurried to follow Sherlock. He wasn't about to miss Sherlock's confrontation with his newfound niece. For all his grumbling and moping, John was as curious as a cat in a laser tag game. With a hurried pace, John just managed to make it to the door as Sherlock finished picking the lock. 

"Please keep up John."

"I'm trying. If people would pay for the cab, besides me." John gritted out in annoyance while Sherlock pushed the door open. 

"Trivial." Sherlock waved off John's words.

"Mycroft can charge you with breaking and entering… I hope he does," The begrudging doctor muttered as he followed Sherlock in without thinking twice.

"And you are a willing accomplice." Sherlock's tone was positively gleeful.

John ran a hand over his eyes at Sherlock's annoying retorts. Where was the Aspirin when it's needed? 

The faint sound of hurrying footsteps echoed through the silent halls of Mycroft's home as Sherlock intruded upon the silent sanctuary of his elder sibling. With a silent prayer for self-control John hurried after Sherlock. Echoes of sound filled the air and John easily traced Sherlock's path to the stairs leading to the floor above. "How on earth did the Holmes figure things out so quickly?" John mused to himself; it was as frustrating as trying to pick blueberries from a cherry tree.

Sherlock's answers were within his grasp, just a few more steps and his curiosity would be satisfied. Glee bubbled up in his chest; a thrill tingled along his back like an electric shock. Nothing could be more exhilarating than the discovery of one of Mycroft's secret. There was just something so…thrilling about pulling a block from Mycroft's not so ivory tower. Three steps, two steps, one step…. His hand grasped the door knob of one of Mycroft's guest rooms. A deft twist and a push and Sherlock was standing inside a bedroom where a bedraggled looking girl lay asleep in bed, her back turned towards the door.

"Sherlock! What are you doing?" John hissed quietly through gritted teeth. "She's asleep!"

"Getting answers, keep up John." Striding over to the bed, the consulting detective jerked the blankets away from the sleeping girl.

"Stop Sherlock! Mycroft is going to kill you!"

"Don't be ridiculous John. He's at Diogenes now, and she obviously got rid of the agent that Mycroft had stationed inside the house."

"How did she get rid of an agent?"

"A very simple explanation. She's a Holmes." Sherlock said leaning over the girl and tapping her face incessantly.

"Oh…. THAT explains 'everything,' Sherlock! Leave her alone, she's sleeping." John sighed as Sherlock kept annoying his newfound niece.

"Mmhhh… Go Away." Nancy mumbled slapping Sherlock's hand away. Sherlock paused in his actions, eyes zoning in on the girl, as she roused from her sleep.

"That's unlikely. Up now." Sherlock uttered in barely concealed excitement, John couldn't stop a smile at the childlike glee in his friend's eyes.

"Leave now if convenient," Nancy yawned sleepily, "If inconvenient… leave anyway."

"You heard her," John laughed. "She's definitely related to you."

"Quiet John." Sherlock muttered grasping Nancy by the right arm and tugging her out of bed.

"You're the men from the airport!" The girl said in a more awake tone. "Let me go."

"Are you Mycroft Holmes' child?" Sherlock asked lazily, still gripping her arm.

"And if I am?"

"Meet your Uncle, Sherlock Holmes," John announced with a lack of flare. His statement was bland and lacked the flare that Sherlock desired.

"John. That's no way to introduce someone." 

"A text would have worked," Nancy deadpanned sending Sherlock a bland look that channeled her father's icy gaze. 

"She's definitely Mycroft's child." John's tone held immeasurable glee. "Oh, she's going to be such a delight." He thought to himself with a smirk.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective; the younger and more intelligent Holmes sibling." Sherlock arrogantly stated. 

Nancy stared up at Sherlock with a blank expression, trying to gauge if he was truly serious. A minute ticked by…two minutes. Sherlock shifted on his feet subtly, he truly wanted nothing more than to know this niece of his. A new curiosity…but it wasn't only that. If the Holmes brothers were truly honest, they could admit that being intelligent was a rather lonely existence. Slowly, Sherlock released his hold on the young redhead.

The doctor held his breath silently as he watched the newfound relatives stare at one another inquisitively. It seemed the two were holding a silent conversation, intent staring and no breaking from the perfect poker faces. Once again John felt frustrated at being left out of yet another silent conversation in the Holmes family. Couldn't Mycroft's child at least be relatively normal? It wasn't looking like poor John would ever get a break. 

"So, you're Sherlock Holmes." Nancy broke the silence finally, her eyes flitting over Sherlock's very still form. "I thought you'd look more intelligent." Her face was extremely serious, but a small smile tugged at her lips. Her statement caused a snort of laughter to escape and Sherlock to shoot John a 'please, shut up look.' 

"Of course. And you are?" Sherlock asked in one of the kindest tones that John had ever heard him use.

"Nancy Holmes. Daughter of Mycroft Holmes and Caroline Rivers- Holmes." Nancy replied, a tiny smile still on her face and an eager curiosity consuming her bright green eyes. Sherlock smiled despite himself, she was quite endearing.

"So, Mycroft married your mother?"

"Of course!" The nine-year-old sounded indignant and shot her Uncle a glare.

"Is she in London?"

"No. A cemetery," Nancy snapped back, hurt flickering across her face. A flash of panic crossed Sherlock's face and John opened his mouth about to save the situation from his friend's lack of social polish. Surprisingly, Sherlock spoke before one sound escaped John.

"I didn't know. Umm, well I am rather curious about Mycroft's only child… He never mentioned you. I've never had a niece." Sherlock shifted once again, the unusual situation making him feel out of place.

"Why are you interrogating me? I should be asleep. After all, you nearly blew me up!"

"That wasn't me! It was the killer." Sherlock protested.

"Tell that to my arm. And the stitches in my head." Nancy deadpanned, but frowned as she saw worry flicker in Sherlock's eyes. "I'm okay. Really! I promise."

"Sherlock no more crime scenes!" John exclaimed as if just realizing that Nancy's right arm was bandaged, and her skin was pale. He hurried over to her to help her back into bed. "You shouldn't be up. Back into bed you go."

"I'm not a child," Nancy's dry humor escaped as John began fussing over her. 

"Nine years old. Raised in America, but definite English hint to your accent. Mother was English, along with the agent Mycroft obviously had placed with you." Sherlock observed lazily. "Extremely stubborn and has above average intelligence. Mother disappeared or died tragically." 

"Sherlock," John hissed as he watched Nancy's face crumple again.

"What? I'm simply stating the information that I have acquired on my new relative."

"That's…umm nice. But I don't know much about you other than that your name is Sherlock Holmes, younger brother of Mycroft Holmes, the less intelligent brother, self-declared high functioning sociopath, and consulting detective." Nancy stated carefully.

"Very good, but we'll have to work on your deducing skills… You missed quite a few things that should be very obvious." Sherlock stated with a bit of glee in his eyes that unsettled John.

"You'll teach me to deduce?" Nancy asked with a curious gleam in her eyes that made Sherlock felt an unusual sense of giddiness. There was just something special about Nancy it would seem.

"Of course. It wouldn't do for the less intelligent brother, your father, to teach you." Sherlock snorted as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever thought of. "It's best if I teach you."

"Alright… I suppose," Nancy yawned sleepily, barely able to keep her eyes open.

"What happened to your mother?" Sherlock couldn't refrain from asking. Nancy's eyes welled up with tears, as her sleepiness lowered her defenses to hide her emotions.

"Died." She muttered and tugged the blankets up to her chin and rolled onto her left side.

"That's quite enough, let's be going. Sherlock," John stated firmly, grasping Sherlock by the arm and dragging him from the room. 

"It was a simple question John!"

"But, she's only nine, and obviously grieving over the loss of the only parent she's ever known!" John hissed as he closed the door behind them and shoved Sherlock towards the stairs. "Time to leave, before Mycroft gets home." 

"I need to ask a few more questions," Sherlock tried to move back towards Nancy's room. Obvious curiosity on his face, John softened slightly at the simple look.

"Later. But first we need to have a long talk about speaking to children." John prodded Sherlock to descend the stairs as he spoke.

Silently the pair retraced their steps towards the front door. There was no need to linger for an extended amount of time. Sherlock had the basis of information he needed. His brother was married previously, his wife was dead and a niece had come from the whole situation. Sherlock turned the handle of the front door, and opened it only to find Mycroft exiting his car. John heaved a silent sigh of dread. 

"Did you ask enough questions Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice was emotionless but his eyes were cold as he came to stand directly outside of the front door.

"Not nearly enough, but I plan to speak more with my newfound niece. So nice of you to tell me about her." Sherlock looked at Mycroft quite calmly.

"She's none of your concern."

"Caring isn't an advantage. Isn't that what you say? But it seems you've been married and procreated another human." Sherlock's tone became quite clinical.

"I do believe you are concerning yourself with matters you cannot begin to understand Sherlock." Mycroft calmly stated and moved past Sherlock and through the open door.

"I'll be back to talk to her."

"I'd be surprised if you gave up Sherlock. Next time phone." Mycroft stated blandly but with hidden layers of hostility.

"Why do I always get dragged into these family fights?" John groaned as Sherlock dramatically flounced towards Mycroft's car. "And now you're demanding his driver to take you places…Sherlock do you have no self-preservation?"

"The bigger the bark doesn't mean the dog will use its teeth on you John. Come along. I have plans to make."

John groaned to himself as they drove off towards the flat. Why was it always him that got stuck between the two Holmes siblings and their dramatics…? At least it wasn't boring…There was never a dull moment with the two Holmes'. John paused, now there were three Holmes invading his daily life. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse. Oh, where was his lovely tea and writings? It seemed he'd have an eternal headache. Time would only tell if Nancy somehow made the brothers get along better. However, John wasn't sure if he could survive much longer.


End file.
